Nasty little dreamlet this morning. It was nighttime. Not sure how old I was–I felt like an adult, but I still had Tiger, the long-haired chihuahua we had when I was little. I opened the front door, and saw a pack of dogs? coyotes? walking down the street in front of my house, shadowy figures in the dark. Next thing I knew, Tiger dashed outside and took off after them. I ran after him, tried to get him before the other dogs did–I assumed they would see him as a snack instead of another dog. I was still hunting for him when I woke up.
Happy Tuesday.
You’re anticipating. It’s a coping mechanism and completely normal. Drove me nuts for years before I figured it out; was lucky enough to read something psychological which put my flights of dark imagination (& dreams) into context.
Good luck
Ian.
I figured it had something to do with King. What made it a little worse was that we lost Tiger in an accident, so I never did get to say goodbye to him.
Coping + memory = an occasionally rough combination